I saw seven stretch Hummer limousines in Hanover on Friday, so I figured there was some dignitary in town, or at the very least a B-side congresswoman (Shea-Porter). But nay. It was for the Class of 2012 freshman formal.
Yes, seniors, that freshman formal that you had a full three years ago. Whereas we had nothing more than our dancing shoes and love for one another, they had Hummer limousines. Limousines that took them from Hanover to Hanover.
My, have the times changed.
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This is the story of a simpler time ...
Protagonist: Myles, freshman stud, three-sport athlete, charismatic, humble, earnest.
Scene: The College on the Hill, Winter term 2006.
It is the winter of his freshman year, and by goodness is Myles happy to be alive. He's young and exuberant, he attends one of the most enduring institutions in the world, and tonight will be his first opportunity to hit the town in his new suit.
Now, Myles has worn suits all throughout his life (church, weddings, etc.), but this suit is his suit. Myles saved up his hard-earned money the previous summer on the assembly line so that he could buy a suit for college. He refused to go to college wearing another of Papa Lane's hand-me-down, Reconstruction-era suits.
So there he was, in his suit, anxiously waiting the nine o'clock hour when his date would telephone him, alerting him that she was almost ready to go.
Tonight was the night. The 177th annual Freshman Formal.
(Ring, Ring.)
Myles: (with corsage in hand) Hello?
Charlotte: Hello Myles, it's Charlotte. I'm almost done freshening up. Would you like to meet me here in five minutes?
Myles: Coming Charlotte. (Hangs up phone).
As if he were one of 10 suitors in a race to Charlotte, Myles ran like a right-down Jesse Owens and made it to the Choates dormitory in two minutes flat. Armed with her corsage and a smile that could kill, he swooped Charlotte off of her feet and carried her to the Top of the Hop for the Freshman Formal. They had a wonderful walk, meeting up with friends on the way. Once they arrived at the formal, they danced the night a way to all of the great tunes of the day.
This event truly made all of the young first-years forget about all the ills of the outside world, from the pressures of academia, to the fear that this economic boom would one day come to a screeching halt. For one night, they were free.
As Myles walked home after dropping off Charlotte, he thought about all of the Freshman Formals of years gone by, and how he couldn't wait to be a proud senior, watching the freshmen walk to their own Freshman Formal...
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...And this too is a story. A sad, sad story.
Protagonist: Chase, freshman boy lacking activities, direction or goals.
Scene: COLLEGE. Winter 2009.
It is the winter of his freshman year and Chase is fresher than ever. He's young, brash, debatably illiterate, and invincible, he attends the biggest party school east of Vermont, and tonight will be his first opportunity to hit the town in his new suit.
Chase has worn suits all throughout his life, but this suit is his suit. Chase spent his entire summer stealing things that he ultimately sold in an end-of-the-summer rummage sale so that he could buy a suit for college. He refused to go to college wearing another ill-fitting suit that he stole from the guy whose cats he looked after.
So there he was, in his suit, anxiously waiting the nine o'clock hour when his girl would text him, telling him that she was almost ready to go.
Tonight was certainly the night. The 180th annual Freshman Formal.
(Text message conversation.)
Karyn: where r u?
Chase: (with two Keystones in hand) I'm in my room, grl. Relaxxxxxxx.
Karyn: I'm standing outside of Topliff waiting for u. Hurry up, it will be here in 2 min.
Chase: (looking for suit under bed) Okay, okay, I'm walking out right now, bye.
As if there were a prize for taking as long as possible, Chase haphazardly got his life together at a snail's pace, and made it down the stairs in no less than 15 minutes.
Armed with just the backwash corner of the Keystone and a facial expression that screamed "Good Sam me and tell them I was at Heorot," Chase greeted his lady-friend who proceeded to slap him with her purse and yell, "Two limos have come and gone. There's no way I'm ever walking from Topliff to the Hop, I'm going home."
Chase subdued her threats and finally, after five more minutes, a stretch Hummer limo came and picked the two of them up and whisked them away to the Top of the Hop for the Freshman Formal. They were the only ones in the limo for the 11-second ride.
Once they arrived at the Formal, they grinded the night away to the great T-Pain tracks of the day. This event truly made all of the young first-years remember the freedoms and privileges that come with being an American -- mainly the ability to use school funds on extravagant two-minute limousine trips, although the College doesn't have enough money to employ a full staff of First-Year deans. (It took 833 words to make this one point. This is the only reason I wrote this entire article. Hopefully you started here, but I have a feeling you didn't. I'm so sorry.)
What mattered was for one night, they were free. As Chase got a ride back home via the bourgeois express, all he could think about was the unbelievable life of luxury that he was living as a Dartmouth student, and how he couldn't wait to be a proud senior, watching the freshmen fly on jet planes to their own Freshman Formal.
I guess some old traditions have failed, after all. Bummer.
